Ten Years!

Winter of 2004 – Just after I got the keys to my house.

Ten years ago I bought this house. I was 25 , and although Mike D and I were dating, we had no immediate plans to move in together. I was terrified to make such a huge financial commitment on my own, but I was also tired of renting and pouring my time and money into someone else’s space. It was 2004, and home prices were at an all time high. My options were slim – either an updated home in an undesirable neighborhood or a fixer upper in a great location. I chose location. Over the next ten years I learned so much about decorating, DIY-ing, and sprucing up a home on a budget. I made some mistakes and suffered many headaches, but it’s all been worth it.

For me, making a home is about designing a space that has meaning, character, and story. A space that is welcoming. I want to be surrounded by beautiful things that lift my soul – art, photographs, personal collections. It is important that our home feels calm, happy, and reflects our sense of humor. Luxurious, but not fussy. Organized and clean, but not sterile. I want to sit on my sofa, turn on Girls, and enjoy a glass of red wine and a slice of pizza without worrying obsessively about spills and crumbs. I want my friends to come over and feel like they can be rowdy and have fun. I want to live in a space that makes me (and Mike D) feel happier than any other place in the world.

Designing our home has been a slow process, and one that will never be “done”. I like change, and I often move things in, out, and around to keep things fresh. I hunt for sales. I scour thrift stores and Craigslist. I mix inexpensive pieces from big box stores with vintage flea market finds. Nothing in my house is high-end or unattainable. I’d like to say that I learned this thrifty business on my own, but it’s not true. I stand on the shoulders of giants. And by giants I mean my mom.

1979 – My mom andI in my bedroom at our house in Detroit.

When I was 10 years old, my parents took me shopping for new carpet for my bedroom. As we entered the local flooring shop, my dad made a beeline to the back of the store. Rolls of remnants were stacked under a sign that said CLEARANCE! SALE! BARGAINS! I followed him through the store, running my hand through rows of carpet samples, a rainbow of berbers and shags. My eyes landed on a dusty rose plush and I fell hard.

Me: “Dad! I found it! The carpet of my dreams!”Dad: “Oh yeah? How about this blue remnant? It has some vomit stains but it’s only ten cents a square foot! There’s a nice poop-brown shag back here too!”

*The accuracy of these quotes is questionable, but conveys the spirit of the conversation nonetheless.

I exchanged a look with my mom and pulled something from my limited arsenal of beggary. As she looked back and forth between us – me, my dad, the carpet of my dreams – I saw a look come over her and felt an acute sense of solidarity. She understood how that carpet made my heart sing. I was a moth and the carpet was the flame. My poor dad never stood a chance.

Soon after, my mom took me shopping for bedding, curtains, and accessories. We combed through discount department stores and thrift stores, and though she cringed at many of my choices (ahem… teal Aztec-print wallpaper), she used her decorating magic and her ability to stretch a dollar to make it all come together. It turned out super cute, super 80’s, and super me. I spent a good portion of the next ten years of my life in that room. It’s where I hosted sleepovers, read Nancy Drew books under the covers with a flashlight, wrote epic missives in my diary, listened to purple rain at least a million times, and cried into my pillow over the calamities of being a teenage girl.

My mom gave me a beautiful and comfortable space of my own to get through those magical and difficult years. That room was my refuge. She taught me so many things, but most importantly, she taught me the meaning of home.

1981 – My mom, my dad, my powder puff big wheel, and I.

In honor of the ten year anniversary of buying my house, I thought I’d share a few photos taken on my first day as a home owner, compared to how things look today. Behold! Faux wood paneling, dirty carpet, and dusty old drapes abound!

I love this post and had no idea you had wood paneling! Once I find out if I’m a home owner or not I’ll need your help! I have no sense of style other than ‘clutter chic’. It’s sad. But this house could be good.

Thank you, Linda! Are you on Pinterest? There’s a lot of inspiration on there to help you figure out what style(s) you’re drawn to. Start pinning your favorite rooms and I’m sure you’ll notice a style pattern start to develop!

Hmm it appears like your site ate my first comment (it
was super long) so I guess I’ll just sum it up what I had written and say,
I’m thoroughly enjoying your blog. I as well am an aspiring blog writer but I’m still new to everything.
Do you have any points for rookie blog writers? I’d really appreciate it.

Hi Juliet! Thank you so much, I’m glad you’re here! Hmmm… I guess my best advice would be to stay authentic in your content. Write about what truly interests you, not necessarily what you think others will find interesting. The blogs I enjoy the most are the ones that seem less like a business and more like a personal journal. Even if you’re just writing about buying a new rug or sharing a recipe, if your personality shines through, people will connect with your realness. I hope that helps! Good luck!

First and foremost, your home is AMAZING! You did a fantastic job at transforming it. Secondly, this post made me smile…one of those warm and fuzzy smiles. I love the pictures of you when you were younger. And the “dusty rose carpet” :-), so perfect!